


Origins

by Shrine_of_Worship



Category: Shadow of the Colossus
Genre: Gen, Headcanon, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4300956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shrine_of_Worship/pseuds/Shrine_of_Worship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But heed this… if thou fails to accomplish what we askest… then thou hast welcomed Us to lay a curse upon mortals for eternity…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Origins

**Author's Note:**

> This is pulled from an old RP blog that I no longer maintain, and I kept it as is. You're free to use it for something of your own. Please forgive my Modern English, I never really studied it fully so it's not the best.

The world was on the brink of decay and yet it focused on one, single flower.

A shadowy, translucent being that gazed longingly at a single, withered flower, its browned petals in the being’s left hand. They were almost specks compared to its hand, yet it handled them so gently.

A human was curious to step closer, other eyes watching so intensely, and then the being slowly turned its horned head. Its eyes were bright like the sun, but glowed softly like the moon. Its entire body was covered in soft-looking fur, heavily hooded around its head and shoulders, but was as translucent as the rest of its body.

Without a word, it returned its gaze to the flower.

Many eyes laid upon the creature now, and time felt as though it had stopped. The unbearable silence was deaf to their ears. They came closer without fear. The being cupped both hands around the flower, and a fawn peered so close that his nose touched the being’s hand. His nose grew warm from the touch and backed away. The creature did not flinch, and a warm light surrounded the flower. The flower slowly rose from its wilted state, standing proudly. The fawn moved back as the creature gently opened its hands, laying them palms up. The petals vanished like dust, only to reappear on the flower, rejuvenated, white as clouds.

A ray of light parted the clouds above as the translucent being turned its gaze upward, and the world was engulfed in a bright, warm light as the tough, hardened dirt softened and greened, spreading across the land, slowly, as a warmth blanketed over those who yearned for it. The woman shielded her eyes, and as the light dimmed she turned to look up, only to meet the strange being’s gaze.

And finally, it spoke.

“We have restored balance to these lands…”

It had the voice of many- gentle, piercing, soft; commanding. The translucent being panned its eyes around its captive audience. The fawn took a step back, standing close to the woman. The woman was captivated by this being, it was something of a miracle. Such a short meeting, and already the world had bluer skies and greener life. She hesitated to speak, clutching the scruff of her tattered collar, her heart pounding against its ribcage. This creature was a god.

“We are Dormin… We are the essence of all things living… and We are the shepherd of death…”

“Thou hast grown careless.” they spoke sharply, lowering themselves to the woman’s gaze. Dormin glowered at the woman, and her heart sunk. She stepped back, white-knuckled. The fawn retreated to his mother. “But… We shall give thee a second chance to redeem thyself…”

Dormin began to ease upward, but paused as the woman stepped forward.

“T-thank you,” the woman spoke, bowing her head. “w-we are, forever grateful. All of us! We will do as we must to better care for these lands. But-“ She looked up at Dormin, her brows furrowed.  ”We must repay you somehow, this deed… it is too great for us, we are forever in your debt!”

There was a long pause.

“Dost thou speak for these mortals?” Dormin questioned, slowly facing the other humans. The humans gazed at the woman, alarmed. The animals slowly returned to the world, slipping away from the humans.

She glanced at them, their eyes pricking her like needles, but an elderly one gently dipped his head. The woman’s eyes glistened and she turned to face Dormin.

“Very well…” Dormin faced her. “Thou art appointed as the envoy of mortals.” The woman flinched as it pointed a finger at her.

It then turned to face the other humans.

“Thou shalt nurture these lands… Thou shalt learn to craft thy tools to till, reap and sow… and thou shalt cradle these lands as their child… If thou manages to accomplish what we askest, We shall reward thee…”

The woman and the humans strained their neck as Dormin rose to its full height, but then began to fade away. “If thou seeketh knowledge… then thou only returneth to this spot… and We shall answer…”

The humans gathered closer as Dormin faded away into the sunlight, but Dormin’s voice was heard overhead. The woman gazed at the flower in disbelief, feeling a weight in the pit of her stomach.

“But heed this… if thou fails to accomplish what we askest… then thou hast welcomed Us to lay a curse upon mortals for eternity…”

 

*********************************


	2. Closed City

The mortals had kept their promise.

The lands flourished.

The humans had built glorious sights and homes for themselves, and the woman was a pioneer for their stability. Even though they were forever grateful for Dormin, they still feared Their words. That woman was now an aged elder, and soon her next generation will become humanity’s envoy. A young man, with big ambitions.

It concerned Them.

A shrine was built for Dormin. The flower had withered away but only to sprout a garden of more, being relocated to the top of the tower where the sun shines brightest. Those flowers became engrained into the humans’ culture, a symbol of their saviour along with a sigil conjured by the god. Idols lined the walls of the first floor, a chamber with a spiraling staircase in the room ahead, leading outward to a gate, beyond the lands; a bridge that stretched for miles, and another gate that welcomed the world beyond.

Dormin’s ethereal form stayed within the shrine, but They were watching everywhere. When a death ocurred, they brought the body to the shrine and lay it atop a pedestal, adorning them with flowers. Shadowy figures would rise near the pedestal but the humans did not fear them- They were Dormin’s consorts. They would lead the soul from a mortal’s deceased body away, to a place unbeknownst to the humans.

When it came time for the envoy’s passing, all came to watch. They flooded her pedestal with flowers, showered her with the most valuable cloths and her son clutched her tightly, silently. His tears fell and slid through the aged wrinkles in her face, but she only smiled, slowly turning her gaze to him. Her eyes were grey and unseeing. She did not have much time left, she said, but she was not sad nor afraid. She believed in him, to be humanity’s next envoy, and those words weighed his heart heavily.

Dormin watched carefully from the recesses of the shrine.

Her time was coming nearer, and the man only clutched tighter. As the shadowy figures finally appeared, the man refused to let go. He held her until her last breath. The shadows came closer as her eyes shut. His grip loosened as they touched her arm, and touched his. His mother grew cold, and the shadow’s touch grew warm. He looked at the shadow, its shape so odd and faceless. But he could feel it staring. He let go of his mother, and took with him the people as he left. He could not bear to watch any longer, no matter how many times he has seen others go through it, it was just not right to him.

The shadowy figure lingered however. It watched as the humans disappeared off into the horizon. Then it turned, retreating into the shrine.

It would be days before the man returned to bury his mother’s body.

It would be weeks until another human returned to the shrine.

 

*********************************


	3. Prayer

 

The man had finally gained the courage to return for Dormin’s knowledge, but was still stricken with grief. The envoy was conflicted; he wanted to please everyone, but he also did not want them to forget. He was young but so very aged from the stress of responsibility. The fear that he felt was still alive in his mind, but he knew it would be best to keep the more powerful knowledge that Dormin shared with him a secret.

When a funeral was not in process, many came to their idol to give gifts and praise. They represented the many gods of the mortals from beyond the edge of the world, and some even incorporated this new god amongst them. The idols built across the shrine walls however, were of false gods.

It was his mother’s idea to have the idols built into the shrine so that all cultures could be unified in one area to worship their beliefs. It was a place of serenity, children playing atop the tower as the older ones prayed. There was no idol for Dormin, but the sigil was Their mark, and many small prayer shrines scattered across the land that also served as tombs. They only carefully oberved over the humans’ progress, to make sure that the envoy were doing what They asked. On some rare occasions They would be willing to grant a request from those who asked.

But there were conflicts. Some feared Them. Some refused to acknowledge Them. But it was an understandable fear, and They silently, curiously, loomed over the humans during their pilgrimages. They kept Their distance, but an occasional question would be asked by Them, to the envoy. The envoy would explain to Them, and They would be amused by his struggling answers every time.

The envoy was conflicted with himself as well. He chose no god, not even Dormin, only acknowledging him, but his three sons, however, chose the one as the same as their mother’s- the Grand Celestial, Grandis Supernus. It was a popular god amongst the people of these lands, rivaling that of one of smaller stature, Cenobia.

Eventually, the city’s would begin to mentally divide. While it was one, there was still a noticeable disconnection between the conjoined cultures. Sometimes the periods between pilgrimage became months, as the envoy had given into their requests to allow the building of their own shrines.

The sigil was borrowed. The envoy, and many of the followers of Dormin would eventually become rare, and the newest envoy, the eldest son, rarely spoke to Them. Not forgotten, but left alone, only to maintain the shrine’s appearance. The practice of Dormin ferrying their souls away was even rarer. They were not concerned however; their trust in humanity spanned for decades, and so they let them have their peace…

 

*********************************

 


	4. Black Blood

Masks, reddened flowers, the smell of gunpowder, and the clashing of swords. The needle finally pricked the skin of humanity, and bled under the name of the holy. A war for the superior. A war for the most holy. Countless dead, all by the hands of their own.

The third envoy of humanity grew desperate. Desperate for a resolution, but not one of absolute peace. He envied power, power that would not only unify the city but to be able to rule over it. While the war continued he feverishly searched, praying to his god in the temple atop the edge of a cliff. He was being pursued by the crusade of Kuromori.

The pledge to Dormin was on the verge of being forgotten the more he had prayed to Grandis Supernus, but an elderly worshipper relayed it upon the envoy, to warn him there will be no victor if chaos continued to reign upon this city. She warned him of the crusade of Kuromori hunting him down, and helped him escape. He rode his horse out into the lands, to his last resort: the shrine of worship.

He remembered the place as a child, but knew not of its current condition. He never realised the true mass of the shrine as a child, but was awestrucken as a man. He had arrived, and it was untouched albeit more green than usual.

He was unsure what to do- the halls were empty. The silence alarmed him, clasping the hilt of his sword on his waist, doubting the woman’s words as he readied for an ambush, but was only greeted with a strange sound that resonated throughout the temple- laughter.

“Your weapon is of no use against Us, mortal…”

This only made the envoy grip the hilt even tighter, darting his eyes around the hall.

“Dormin!” he cried out, trembling. “Show yourself so that we may speak, it is of grave importance!”

Dormin’s physical form appeared, massive in stature, knealing before the envoy. They peered downward, staring into his eyes. Small, shadowy figures stood nearby, their faceless direction facing him.

“It has been a while since thou need’st Our aid…” They playfully responded. “What dost thou-“

“There is too much bloodshed in this war that has turned our city into chaos! I need something. Something to win this war.”

Silence pierced his ears. The god only lay still, unmoving. The shadowy figures had vanished. Dormin’s complexion grew more opaque. They edged their head back.

“A war?” Dormin responded broodly.

“It was inevitable, we tried to warn them what would happen, but many had forgotten about you!” the man looked down. “I… had forgotten, but now I have been reminded of my duties, and I -no- we ask for your help!

“I,” he stepped forward, growing flustered. “I need a weapon, no, an army! Something!”

There was a long pause. Their gaze remained unbroken as They thought. They rose higher, crouching, their gaze etching into the envoy’s memory. The wind gently howled. Dormin looked upward, to the hole in the ceiling, light shining through. So strange that on a day of desperation, nature continued on, the sun shone bright like a ray of hope. Suddenly, Dormin vanished. The man hissed and turned on his heel to leave, but Dormin spoke again.

“Come to the basin beyond this room…”

The envoy hesitated, glancing back at his horse as he paused his step. The mare only nickered, turning her head to the side, facing the outside world. He faced the basin, anxiously closing in on the next room. The man stared into the shallow basin filled with water. He stared into his reflection, seeing the sunken shadows underneath his eyes, his hair stingy and unkempt. He almost felt ashamed for appearing so terribly to the god.

The water quivered, and his reflection distorted. He looked onward, seeing a strange object in the centre of the basin. He hesitated again, then entered the basin, the water climbing past his knees as he made it in to the centre. He reached in, and wielded a sword, a sword as black as the night. He held the sword up to examine its features, in awe of its unique craft.

“Thou wields a portion of Our power… this sword is of Our essence… conquer your foes, restore balance amongst mortals… and once you have accomplished what we askest… you must return the sword to Us.”

The man broke his gaze with the sword, looking upward. He nodded, thanked the god, and hurried his way to the entrance. Shadows appeared from the ground again, watching as he rode off into the horizon. He held the sword up, whooping, amazed at how it reflected the light.

The shadows froze, then vanished.

 

*********************************


	5. Demise of the Ceremony

 

The envoy reveled in his newfound power. He admired the sword, enroached in its unique abilities. His enemies fell before him so easily, the war was so easily won as many turned to him. One cut from the blade and the sword took their life.  He felt himself to be of greater significance, a king, no- a messenger of his god. He claimed the sword was a sign from above, derived from his own god

However, the blade could also bring back the life from the dead. The sword had many unknown abilities, but its most powerful was for death.

The war ended, and he was now the king of the city. The messenger for the god. He let their gods fill their minds, but he dictated the status quo. If any refused to obey, the sword would take their life. He was consumed by lust for power. When the time came for him to give the sword back to Dormin, however, he refused.

“Thou must return the sword to Us.” Dormin greeted overhead as the man entered the shrine. “Thou hast overwelcomed its use.”

The man winced but did not gaze upward as Dormin materialized. The sword was carefully wrapped in cloth, cradled in both hands of the man, who was now nearing his late 50’s. He gazed longingly at the sword, almost seeming to ignore Dormin’s demand.

“Out of curiosity, I must ask you this, Dormin,” he began, pursing his lips. “Why? It has kept our people at peace for a long time.”

“Thou carries a power thou cannot comprehend… returneth the sword to Us…” Dormin’s voice sounded rushed, as though it were alarmed, reaching a hand towards him. “Thou art humanity’s envoy… If thou dost not do as We askest-“

“No!” he tore the cloth off the sword and raised the sword towards Dormin. “This sword, it belongs to me now. I am very aware of its power, and have I made no promise to return it!”

They seemed shocked, flinching. Their eyes were widened, Their stance frozen, time ticking. But then, the world suddenly grew cold, and the softer voices of Dormin vanished. Their fur bristled, and their appearance grew more opaque and menacing.

“Thou art a mere mortal…” Dormin growled, moving closer. Thou hast clung to false gods and hast forgotten their purpose… the only god that exists… is Us…”

The courage fled from the envoy’s heart. He broke into a cold sweat, his palms sweaty on the grip, and then turned to flee, but Dormin only laid its hands down with a heavy thud, encasing the envoy. The hands closed in on him, and the man panicked. He stared up at the hole in the ceiling, only to be blocked by Dormin’s menacing glare, Their hands enclosing upon him. The man’s heart drummed his ribcage and choked his throat, but gripped the sword, swinging it across Dormin’s left hand.

The envoy jumped as Dormin roared, rearing back in pain, black blood spurting from the wound, evaporating upon escape. They gripped the wound, their movements sluggish due to their immense size, and as They tried to crush him with Their other fist he dodged, running up to Their right side and raising the sword, plunging it into Their thigh.

“What is thy meaning of this?!” Dormin roared.

They tried to turn but he was moving too fast, and Their shadows only vanished from the blows that he laid. The god fell as They were struck in the other thigh, falling forward. The man didn’t want to stop, he wanted this god to no longer exist, he wanted to keep his reign of power. The adrenaline rush pushed him, clamored him higher, aiming at Their back, Their shoulders, and as he reached Their head he sharply inhaled, raised the sword highest, the light shining brightly across the sword, a sigil appearing on Dormin’s head, and then a bellowing of pain that shook the temple.

Dormin’s body grew cold as They grew weaker, Their body falling apart, collapsing into the ground and sinking. The sigil’s glow dimmed, and as the sword was removed from Their head, the force of the blood spraying from the fatal wound knocked the envoy onto his back. The man gasped for air, his age begetting him, and as he regathered his senses he wiped the sweat from his brow. He still jittered as he watched the god’s eyes. frozen wide in terror, dim, sinking within the ground.   Something had broken in Dormin. It was a falling feeling, only to be replaced with a boiling anger.

Tendrils of black pursued him. But the envoy was not finished. He pointed the sword up towards the light, high above him, and the tendrils of black were pulled inward, into the sword. The sword became too hot to handle, the light shining brighter, until it dispersed and the tendrils bounced along the walls and pillars, and were sealed into the idols.

“You are no god to me, Dormin,” he whispered. “My god does not force us into deals, and is one that does not need to show its face.”

The envoy’s hands shook heavily, the sword clumsily falling from his hands. He bent down to pick up the sword, wrapping it again in cloth, clamoring his horse and riding away. The horse galloped as fast as the man dictated, the city within sight. The sweat on his face glistened as he continued to gallop towards the city.

He killed a god, no, sealed it. A real god. But the god was becoming a menace, and would have interfered with his plans, so its punishment was just in the envoy’s mind. The man did not stop once he reached the city however, and only continued to gallop through the streets until he reached the shrine of Grandis Supernus, and slid his mask down while sliding off his horse. Many of his servants gathered around him, and he held the sword up to reflect light upon the door to the shrine, the gates opening.

He hurried in, the servants had followed. He knelt in the center of the arena, still trying to catch his breath. When things had finally calmed, he prayed, thanking Grandis for the courage and bravery, but then a booming voice was overhead.

“If thou shalt desire false gods, thou shalt HAVE THEM!!”

Suddenly the earth trembled, tremored and quaked. The sky grew dark and a storm began to brew. Sigils on stone glowed blue with malovence. The sigil within the centre of the arena began to move, quake and rise, the land near rose and tore the shrine, rising, forming, creating a being nailed to the ground, the lightning striking behind. The newly-formed creature’s eyes glowed red, staring down at the frightened mortals. They stood in fearful awe, the creature, no, their embodiment of their god staring down at them, and then it raised an arm, and it glowed malovently…

“Grandis supernus…!” the envoy gasped.

It missed by an inch, the envoy glancing to see his followers burnt to a crisp, their scorched flesh permeating his noise. The others panicked and fled as the colossus continued to rampage in place, the mortals being taken out so quickly, the envoy hearing screams beyond the the shrine doors.

In the city Cenobia rampaged and mowed down many around it, crushing the bones of a man into a crumbling wall, pillars toppling all around from its violent impact. They all fled but only a few survived, along with the envoy. Their horses took them out of the collapsing lands, far away, to escape, and took the sword with them. He could hear screams coming from everywhere in the cities, the arenas, the streets being paved with more bloodshed, the colossi destroying many of the buildings. The screams would forever haunt him, but the colossi would be lost in history, forgotten, the lands painted as only forbidden to cross. He had found that the power of revival from the sword was gone. It was now just an heirloom, the story warped so far from its reality.

The colossi, forgotten. But the god… They could not regather. They chose to stay defeated, betrayed. Their anger festered, and They grew to loathe humanity. Their segmented essence were locked within their own prisons. The sword was the only way to free them from the prison, the sword forged from their own essence, but wherever it may be was unbeknownst to Them. The remaining light of the essence of Dormin gathered in the shrine, and did nothing but wait.

*********************************


	6. Awakening

 

Trespassers, intruders, thieves and many vilified mortals, coming to this place.

This place that They have claimed and wept over.

They were all the same, however, either scared out of their skin by Their consorts, or to vanish into the lands beyond the shrine, and be slaughtered by what guarded them.

They could no longer control the colossi. The fragments of Their own essence now acted upon their own as Their consorts could. Did the imprisoned feel it were hopeless, or were They not prisoners, and revelled in Their freedom? It was uncertain to Them, They knew not of Their feelings, only knowing Their own pain. An eternal hurt that made Them lose their trust in mortals, casting them out long ago. They gave them not knowledge, not a soul, but the essence of them, the heaviest reward that became Their downfall. Oh how foolish They felt!

But they felt no regret for unleashing pain to compensate their own- what was lost was something They could no longer reclaim while the mortals had it. However, they grew angrier by the many others who came to Them, seeking their guidance. It amused Them, the very few who remembered Them, asking for a favour from the broken god, one that has been twisted by centuries of imprisonment. It warped their view on the mortals, and whenever they asked for a favour, they would either spirit them away, or worse, set them up for death. Had Their past possessed the ability to see Their current being, they would onlook with disgust.

A group once came, with horses and masks, desiring power. When the ear-shattering bellows of the incomprehensible anger didn’t frighten them away, and the shadows the mortals did not fear, they chose to let them have what they want- in the form of their wrath. They would make it a game amongst Themselves, a twisted game that they would play with the humans, to see how long these five mortals would last before another colossi were to befell upon them or when they realise They had set them up. And even then They wouldn’t let them leave.

Once their bodies grew lame and death stiffened them, their souls were Theirs to claim. The souls they would toy with when suffering as a mortal wasn’t enough. But the ones slain by the colossi were only trapped in the essence of Them, the ones in the shrine engulfed by the consorts of Dormin, to become another.

It only further stigmatized Dormin’s name, further distorting who They were, what They had done for the mortals, but They no longer cared, the humans were selfish creatures. They were selfish as well- They longed for resurrection, longed for revenge, but They felt it was for naught. Once the games grew tiresome, They decided to slumber, to no longer answer, to meditate and to have the anger subside. For a timeless slumber the sword’s presence waned.

Until that fateful day…

 

 Though they slept, there were some that could still hear; They were all around these lands, but restricted, bound by rules. They could feel another presence coming nearer but it was strange, not one but two? A tumming of footsteps, what were they? What could they want? Maybe it were another small herd of animals that somehow managed to make it so far… they weren’t as selfish or desirable as humans… they would seek shelter, or water from the basin in this place, and then leave.

A horse. Could they be of the ones before? No, that were merely two centuries go. But the footsteps of a human lingered, sandals crunching underneath the loose rubble. They were at a snail’s pace, but why? There was the sound of something rustling.

Below them a horse, a young man, carrying something, laying it upon the alter, removing its cloak… Their consorts materialized from the ground, from the world of the dead, acting as Their eyes, to drive this mortal away as They slept.

There they saw a horse, a red-haired man, and a woman lying upon the alter. Her garbs were ceremonial. Were he to carry out some ceremony? But why here of all places… The young man’s eyes lingered upon the maiden, silently gazing in solitude, but turned as his horse bucked and whinnied. He gripped the hilt of his sword, unsheathing it, pointing it towards them. The sunlight above reflected upon the sword, enveloping it in a soft light, and the consorts vanished. That was when Dormin awoke from Their slumber, gazing down below with Their unseen eyes.

Thunder.

“Hmm?” They began, carefully examining the intruder. ”Thou possesses the Ancient Sword? So thou art mortal…”

The sword… They’ve waited so long… Tales of Their own essence being that of utter importance to many… ceremonies, many legends, all weaved in favour of something more mortal.  A sword that vanquished “him”, a sword that were made by the humans, a sword made by a god to defeat this devil. A surprise that the garb the man wore bore the sigil of the past, mayhaps a remnant of Their own that they stole as well? There was no excitement however, they knew what he desired. The maiden upon the funeral alter says all, but They wanted to be entertained by this mortal. It’s been so long since they spoke.

“Are you Dormin? I was told that in this place at the end of the world— there exists a being who can control the souls of the dead.” he began, staring into the brightly lit hole of the shrine’s ceiling. There was a long pause.

“Thou art correct… We are the one known as Dormin…” They responded courteously.

Out of many tales They have heard bastardizing Them, this one they found disappointing. He was correct, but They felt it to be plain. Maybe he were flattering Them in order to better receive his request… The young man turned to the woman upon the altar as he spoke.

“She was sacrificed for she has a cursed fate.” He turned around, his gaze upward, pleading. “Please, I need you to bring back her soul…”

A request as ancient as the sword itself, but one they had the very power to do so… well, not in this current state. To fetch a soul lost in the outside world while the gate was locked was an arduous task. And this request was rare, as mortals have long stigmatized death, claiming it the ends of their means when it befell the young. It amused Them, humored them, but the laughter that echoed along the chamber walls was condescending.

“That maiden’s soul? Souls that are once lost cannot be reclaimed… Is that not the law of mortals?” they asked mockingly, but then continued. ”With that sword, however… it may not be impossible…”

*********************************


End file.
